


Margaret's Wayhouse

by LadyHallen



Series: Sanctuary [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A ton of OC's - Freeform, Fluff Fic, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Magical Shenanigans, Waystation, Worldbuilding, feel good fic, magical doors, siblinghood, wayhouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: Margaret never told anyone, but her parents were werewolves.As she looks at society, she knows something has to change.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character
Series: Sanctuary [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998565
Comments: 97
Kudos: 433





	1. Chapter 1

Margaret never told anyone, but her parents were werewolves.

Obviously, this meant that she had the gene and maybe she did like her meat more on the raw side and she had more energy during the full moons.

But that also meant that she would face discrimination wherever she would go.

The only one she had ever told was Master Harry and the old wizard’s face had crumpled in pain and he had immediately hugged her.

“Oh child,” he’d whispered into her hair. “You are welcome here, never doubt that.”

Margaret loved Master Harry and the Sanctuary but she never forgot that her parents were hunted down by Aurors in their own home.

She had several discussions with Master Harry about it when he could spare her the time. It was obvious that the topic was somewhat close to his heart as well.

It was in those discussions that what she wanted to do was cemented, which was helped when Tom opened his Bar and started funding the Network.

.

* * *

.

Margaret took her apprenticeship with a wardmaster who was part of the Network. The problem was the lack of space.

“Sorry about this,” Master Andre said. “But my part of the Network is usually warding.”

He shared it with his partner, Master Rodrick Burke, who was _not_ part of the Network but knew about it. Which. Was just plain strange. And sort of explained _why_ he didn’t warp his space like most children of the Sanctuary tended to do.

Warped space was strange for those who didn’t grow up with it. Wizards were weird like that.

“It’s alright,” Master Harry said, though his brow was furrowed in unhappiness. He never liked it if something wasn’t accounted for.

“Simon has space,” Margaret decided, remembering the visit to Simon’s new hospital and the building he’d established in place. With how they grew up, she knew Simon wouldn’t resist twisting space. He’d probably need it, because the land he bought wasn’t really large and he had the hospital to think about as well.

Master Harry’s frown cleared, but he still looked unhappy.

.

* * *

.

Simon was a joy to live with, if only because he was too busy to notice if Margaret’s own assignments cluttered the dining room instead of the study room that Master Harry had created.

When she noticed, Margaret guiltily cleaned the place and made him more food. Simon needed the food, he kept forgetting to eat.

She was preoccupied with her own assignments, and Simon’s. Which wasn’t nice, because warding was a very tiring discipline and her idiot housemate kept sleeping in awkward places and she kept _worrying_ over him.

After the third month, Margaret’s patience snapped and she went to Tom.

Tom was, technically, the youngest of those who’d left the Sanctuary. But he earned more than all of them combined. That distinction didn’t count as much as people would think since most of them provided their services for free.

Margaret slammed into the office Face of the Bar and glowered at Tom who was going over paperwork with Amelie.

“You have to do something about Simon,” she announced, making both of them look up with almost identical grumpy looks.

“What about Si?” Tom asked.

“Can it be later?” Amelie asked. “I need some industrial math here.”

Margaret made grabby hands at the papers. “I can do that in my sleep. Both of you take a look at Simon. He’s driving me crazy. He’s not taking care of himself.”

Tom finally gave her his complete and full attention. “I thought he was hiring nurses?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “With what money?”

Tom dived for the accounts and Margaret sat and looked at Amelie’s problem. After warding problems and schematics, industrial math was almost insultingly easy.

Margaret had almost solved it, just two more divisions, when Tom broke her concentration with a loud exclamation.

 _“Motherfucker,”_ he swore. “He’s been doing his healing alone for three months??”

She sighed. “He’s been falling asleep as soon as he finishes cleaning up the place. Sometimes, he even forgets to eat.”

Tom practically ran out of the door.

Amelie gave her a look and Margaret just shrugged. Tom always had a strange relationship with Simon, in that the brat actually thought Simon needed looking after. Margaret had thought it was strange until she’d become Simon’s roommate and realized that yes, Tom was right. Simon was one of those rare people who were like Master Harry. He cared _so much_ that he forgot about himself.

“Just wait a bit,” she told Amelie, who nodded. “I’ve almost got this solved now.”

Amelie, who had been one of the first of their generation to graduate, ran a soup kitchen for both muggle and magical, and also had some shower and laundry rooms set aside for the truly desperate.

None of them really understood what Amelie was thinking back then, but after she’d sent the five magical orphans to Master Harry who had been left in the muggle side, they all knew: she was looking for overlooked magical children. Magic always found magic and she’d made herself a beacon for the other side.

“I’ve got it,” Margaret exclaimed triumphantly. “So if you slaughter one pig a day for your soup, you have to have this much pigs. To extrapolate from that, you also need around five pregnant sows at varying stages. That’s not counting vegetables though, that’s too variable. You need Simon for that, he’s crazy good with weather charms, and he can fix your garden for you.”

Margaret had _seen_ Simon’s garden. And it wasn’t even qualified to be called a garden anymore but a farm.

Amelie nodded. “I know,” she agreed. Ah, she’d seen Simon’s garden too.

A few minutes later, and Tom came storming back in a fit of fury.

“He was on the verge of collapse, the idiot,” he seethed. “I have to fix his situation first, sorry Amy.”

Amelie was really strangely good natured. Almost as much as Master Harry. She didn’t mind the constant interruptions. "Can I help?” she asked instead. “If I could help, I would.”

The Network was comprised of many people, but they still tended to rely on themselves first, and others second. It was a bad habit. Margaret was working to break hers.

“You can send him some food, enough for himself and maybe five children. If I can find that many to help out,” Tom said. He looked calmer at the offer of help. “And Marge, can you tell me if the kids help?”

That wasn’t particularly difficult. She loved finding a problem, then giving it to someone else to solve. Other people were so much more competent than her and it was wonderful.

“Sure thing, overlord,” she teased. “If that’s solved, I gotta go, lunch break is over.”

Master Andre, even with the space issue, had no problem feeding her. Which Margaret was grateful for since Amelie was overworked and Margaret couldn’t spare the time to cook as well.

“You’re almost finished with your apprenticeship,” Master Andre told her, looking over her work. “Your grasp of runes and the arithmancy for it is getting instinctual. And your barrier work is impressive. You have to decide on what your Final Project is going to be.”

The Final Project was something all ward students did, and it had to be something that applied most of everything that the Master had taught the apprentice. Some chose to create a new ward design. Others to invent a new scheme to put things together.

But those had no end goal. And Margaret knew what she wanted as a Final Project, even before she started her apprenticeship.

She would need Simon’s understanding on the weather charms to make a room for werewolves to run free. Master Harry’s idea of the extension charm, and what Simon could do with the environment, it would give werewolves a place to transform in. With that outlet, it would make them not claw at each other.

If Margaret could do it.

If Simon could make her understand.

If.

So many if’s. Margaret preferred doing it and having it explode in her face than worrying about it ad-infinitum and not creating anything.

“I’ll finish it in a bit,” she promised, looking at her notes. She had to finish it. She owed her parents that much.

.

* * *

.

Margaret knew she should be dead.

Werewolves would register their child in the Ministry, and the child would die of suspicious circumstances before their third birthday.

Her parents had known about it and had kept her quiet. Unregistered. Almost unnamed. They’d done their best to protect her and they’d forgotten to protect themselves.

When Master Harry had found her, half-feral and starving in the forest, he’d taken one look into her golden eyes and had known what she was. The thing was, he hadn’t said a word about it. He’d accommodated her needs for almost raw meat and how she flinched at the sight of the full moon.

And that, more than anything, was the reason why she told him.

She doesn’t want any other child like her. There should be no other child like her.

And that’s what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

.

* * *

.

It was a good thing that Tom had taken Simon’s situation well in hand.

Five orphans weren’t much in the grand scheme of things, but five orphans very determined not to starve again were a force to be reckoned with.

Margaret had tried to cook and found herself ushered to the side very firmly. One offer of help was eyed very suspiciously, before she was handed a knife and told to peel potatoes.

She had been with Master Harry before and that was very much a child wrangling skill.

It was hilarious.

Simon was looking better. His eyes weren’t actually red and he seemed less on the verge of passing out and more like he’d missed several nights of sleep.

“You’re looking better,” she told him, because someone had to say it.

Simon eyed her warily. Probably guessing that she was the one who snitched on him to Tom.

“I’m feeling better,” he confessed. “I just need someone to keep my potion’s well stocked and I’m good.”

“That’s all?” she asked dryly, looking at his messy hair.

He curled his shoulders guiltily. “And maybe two or three nurses who know what they’re doing.”

Margaret laughed. “Thought so. I’ll talk to Tom about it.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I knew it was you. You’re just encouraging his overlord tendencies, you know. And you’re being really helpful, what do you want?”

Ah, he was so suspicious, it was precious. “Nothing. Well….maybe your brain about weather charms.”

There were only two things that Simon loved more than healing. One was sleep and the other was weather charms.

His tired eyes lit up and he almost bounced in place. He forgot completely to be suspicious. “How can I help?” he asked.

Margaret smiled at him and showed him her concept notes.

.

* * *

.

It took several sleepless nights and more pepper up potions than was probably healthy.

Simon took an hour in his precious schedule every day to tell her all about weather charms and how to make an actual functioning environment with a flourishing ecosystem.

Amelie kept a steady supply of food and checked in to make sure that no one had died once a week.

Tom kept pulling up ideas that he was absolutely not equipped to do, the crazy overlord. Isabelle Blackthorn, one of the eldest of the Network took one look at the precarious situation of Simon’s Hospital, and put her foot down.

She sent three of her nieces, all in varying ages of fourteen to seventeen, to assist.

“This will be their internship, so you don’t have to pay them,” she told Simon over tea. She was old, regal and utterly terrifying. “And if they don’t perform well, tell me and I’ll do something about it. They’ll have to work for you for the remainder of summer. Beyond that, you’re on your own.”

The three girls were sitting ramrod straight in their chairs and sipping on their tea like soldiers wishing it was something stronger.

Simon nodded faintly and didn’t say a word.

Margaret watched the tableau and wanted to giggle hysterically. Finally someone worthy of being called overlord.

When Isabelle left, to everyone’s relief, she turned to Tom and said, “She’s what you would be if you were a girl and grew old.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “That’ll be a compliment, I respect Izzy immensely.”

(Margaret later learned from Master Andre that Isabelle Blackthorn’s generation of the Sanctuary actually did call her Tyrant.

She had to sit down in a hurry and laugh until she was crying.)

.

* * *

.

The Final Project, once she finished it, was a room.

It was in the basement of an Inn that Tom purchased for her graduation day and Margaret may have gone overboard on it.

An innocuous door, until you opened it and realized you were almost transported to another world. A forest that reflected the outdoor weather. It almost seemed endless and had a functioning ecosystem that didn’t need any magical maintenance. It would rain when it needed and would emit sunlight when needed. She only needed to add in some animals and it would be an actual world.

Simon’s only contribution to the aesthetics was to add a large lake, because he wanted fresh fish every day, the picky fellow.

Master Andre had been so proud that he’d congratulated her on the spot.

“What are you going to do about this?” he’d asked.

Margaret looked at her Master’s kind and sincere face, and told him her deepest secret. When he’d only hugged her gently, Margaret felt the guilt of surviving finally fade away.

“You and your generation,” Master Andre huffed into her hair fondly. “Are such overachievers.”

.

* * *

.

Margaret’s Inn was identified by Master Harry as a Wayhouse when it finally opened to the public.

“A Wayhouse?” Master Rodrick asked.

Master Harry nodded, looking at the structure with strange eyes. He was usually a melancholy wizard who had kind eyes and a soft and gentle air. But when he first saw the Inn, he looked … almost awed.

“A Wayhouse,” Master Harry said, saying the word softly. “A place for wandering travelers to rest, to gain their strength. So they can continue their journey.”

“How different is it from a sanctuary?”

Master Harry made a face. “A sanctuary is where people who need it would find it, and no one can find them unless they will it. A place to hide in safety and luxury. Wayhouses are. Rare. Because anyone can find this place, and anyone can rest here.” He turned to Margaret here, who looked pale. Probably because she’d realized the magnitude of what she’d done. “You’d have to have really creative wards, my dear.”

“Oh, great,” Margaret sighed. “Tom, help.”

Tom quickly raised his hands. “I am not a wardmaster, nope.”

Master Andre quickly apparated away with his partner before Margaret could even turn to look at him with puppy eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

True to Master Harry’s words, the first few customers she had set the trend.

First, a wandering werewolf who hadn’t had a cooked meal in ages. Next, an extremely lost magizoologist who hadn’t seen civilization in a few months and had forgotten he could apparate.

On and on, these sort of people came. Sometimes, they used her Wayhouse as a compass, to identify which part of the world they were in. Others used it as a convenient place with a hot spring bath. They paid in different currencies. And if they had no other means to do so, with strange items. The magizoologist left a pure silver piece of shell. The werewolf taught her strange, obscure spells that no one else had heard of.

Margaret walked away with a sigh.

Something still felt missing in her Wayhouse and her entire body ached for what wasn’t there.

.

* * *

.

In the not-annual Network dinner party – which was called such because it was incredibly difficult to get all members of the Network into one place barring a miracle or Master Harry’s magic – Master Harry went quiet when he saw her.

Master Harry eyed her after the meal and then asked to talk to her, if she was amenable.

Margaret knew a summons when she heard one and went.

“You’re going to wake up, soon,” he told her, making no sense at all. “I would like it if you have some of your age mates with you.”

She could only nod.

At her agreement, he stood up and brought her back to the dining room and looked around. Then, he said, “Jasper, Daisy, Sophie. Gregory.”

The four of them stood up from different conversations without pause and went. All of them looked curious. Margaret was curious too, because the only one she really got along well with was Jasper. Everyone got along well with Daisy and Sophie wasn’t even seventeen yet. She hadn’t really interacted much with Gregory aside from sharing a mug of hot chocolate with him when both of them woke from nightmares when they were children.

“Jasper, I know you’re busy,” Master Harry said in that soft and gentle voice he used. “But I think you could use a sabbatical. Maybe just a few months to help Margaret get her feet under her.”

“Of course, Master Harry,” Jasper nodded. At closer look, he did have terrible dark circles under his eyes. Almost as bad as Simon’s when he first started.

Some of the children of the Sanctuary didn’t decide to put down roots and make their own living like Simon, Tom and Margaret. Some of them decided to wander, or to discover new things.

And some, like Jasper, decided to live in the muggle world to further his education. Which. Was just plain strange, but she loved him anyway.

“Daisy, Sophie,” he turned to the girls next. “I know you’re at loose ends as well, girls. Daisy, you’re still looking for your place in the world and Sophie, you’re feeling stifled here.”

“We’ll help,” Daisy nodded while Sophie blinked in surprise. “I think I still need the experience. And it would be nice to see Margaret in action.”

Gregory spoke up before Master Harry could. “I’ll stay with Margaret, Master Harry. Russia…was a complete loss.”

Master Harry stood up and hugged Gregory, who hugged back just as tight. “Oh child.”

Gregory trembled before he took deep breaths. “I’m okay. It wasn’t nice but. I had confirmation.”

Margaret had a suspicion as to why Gregory was in Russia. When he had shown up in the Sanctuary in tattered and torn clothing, he had whip marks on his back and a terrible look in his eyes. He had also spoken exclusively in Bulgarian before he learned English.

“Margaret is going to wake up soon,” Master Harry repeated, still patting Gregory on the hand. “And you’re all there to witness it.”

They all nodded like they understood, despite Margaret’s confusion. What on earth was he talking about?

Gregory stayed with Master Harry for the night even if he was too old for the Sanctuary. “You need the comfort, dear one,” the old wizard whispered. “Just as I do.”

.

* * *

.

Margaret woke up the next day with the urge to make a door.

Which.

Didn’t make sense because her Wayhouse already had all the doors it needed.

Still, she had lived in a fully sentient house. Had grown up with magic acting up and being strange around Master Harry.

She got up and went looking for a place to put a door.

When Jasper found her, an hour later, she was painting the door green.

“I’m pretty sure you already have a door,” Jasper said. He stared at the large, green monstrosity that was right next to the stairs. The doorknob was gold and the doorframe was inlaid with silver writing that glowed in the sunlight.

The door was impressive and it also led to nowhere.

Margaret finished the last stroke and stood up with a huff. “I woke up with the need,” she explained. “And I think I’m starting to understand what Master Harry meant. About a Wayhouse.”

Jasper looked at the door and just shook his head. He had enjoyed living as a muggle but he missed magic, especially the brand of magic that the children of the Sanctuary practiced. Reality breaking magic.

“Breakfast first,” he insisted. “Then you can break magic later.”

After breakfast, Margaret wandered around and made three more doors that led to nowhere. One red and the other purple.

“Why purple?” Gregory asked. He was holding tongs, probably relegated to grilling something in the kitchen, the poor man. He didn’t make complaints, was the thing.

“It’s…important,” she shrugged. “I think it’s going to open tomorrow.”

It did indeed open the next day. The person came from America and he was very tired.

“What luck!” he exclaimed, sounding incredibly American. “I needed water and suddenly, this door appeared in the desert!”

Daisy, Jasper and Gregory all side-eyed Margaret. Sophie hiccupped around her tea in surprise.

“Welcome!” she greeted cheerfully, ignoring the stares. “Welcome to the Wayhouse. What would you like to eat?”

It turned out, she’d made travelling doors. Connected to a different country.

Margaret held back her giggles until the man left, heading directly to the purple door without any direction.

Jasper near smothered her in a hug.

“Break Magic, I told you,” he almost shouted in her ear. “I didn’t think you’d take me literally!”

Daisy sighed, sitting down with an air of an incredibly tired person. “I thought I was done with these shenanigans after Master Harry. And here you go doing it.”

Sophie, youngest and the most adaptive, asked, “So if the Purple door is wandering around America, where do the Green and Red Doors go around?”

Which. Was a question, wasn’t it?

But no matter how they tried both doors, it remained locked.

Margaret stared at the writing she’d done in a half-asleep trance and had an epiphany. “Ah, I see. The Purple Door opens on Mondays. The Green one opens in Wednesdays and the Red one in Saturdays.”

Sophie looked delighted. Jasper was covering his face with his hands. “This makes no sense,” he whined.

Gregory exchanged glances with Daisy. “Does that mean you’re going to wake up tomorrow and do Tuesday and Friday?”

She had no idea. Magic will out, and she had a feeling that the Wayhouse would get whatever it wanted.

All of them rushed to their stations when the Purple door opened again, this time to an incredibly aggrieved witch who hadn’t eaten in days.

.

* * *

.

It took her three days, but Marge made seven doors.

She’d added Yellow for Tuesdays, Burnt Orange for Thursdays, Fuschia Pink for Fridays and Deep, almost black, Blue for Sundays.

(When Sophie had asked why those colors, Margaret had shrugged and said that it was the paint pot closest to the door when she had her trance.

Everyone had a feeling that the Wayhouse was colorblind. Everyone also had the sense not to say it.)

Of course, they still had to figure out where each door went. Daisy made notes, incredibly organized that she was. Margaret appreciated organized people, they were so helpful.

“Okay, so far we’ve got America for Mondays,” Daisy said as they all hung around the inn drinking butterbeer. “Singapore for Tuesdays, Russia for Wednesdays and today we had France.”

“Three more days to go!” Sophie cheered. “This is very interesting. Almost like we’re back in the Sanctuary.”

Daisy wrinkled her nose. “If this is how it was like when Master Harry first made his place, it must have been incredibly chaotic.”

Jasper looked very tired. He’d been the one cooking since he actually knew French food. “We might need a house-elf at this rate. All of these people want different food.”

Gregory, who usually kept quiet in these discussions, said, “A humane way to acquire house-elves, I hope. Jasper.”

Jasper made a face at him. “Of course. I’ve heard Master Harry’s lectures too, Greg.”

With that promise, Jasper left the next day to acquire a house-elf or two. Or maybe he just left in an incredible hurry because the next day, the Egyptians arrived and he knew how to cook that cuisine too.

.

* * *

.

Polly and Holly, who were found in a crumbling and abandoned castle, looked at the Wayhouse and almost bounced with glee at all the work.

Daisy made a list, because she was like that. Merlin, Margaret adored her.

“We have around a hundred rooms for people,” Daisy read out. “But only thirty are in use. We have no idea why Master Harry made this much room. They also need cleaning.”

“That’s because Master Harry likes to warp space a lot,” Sophie interjected. “He probably forgot that we don’t use that much room.”

Daisy glared at her, and continued. “We have a large dining area, a kitchen for various and many international meals. A laundry room for all those linens and a storage room for them too. And a hot spring bath…which was expanded. Margaret why?”

Margaret wanted to know why she expanded the bath too.

“I don’t know?” she answered, looking confused. “I just felt the need.”

Polly and Holly bounced with happiness. And it was Polly who spoke, “Polly is knowing how to cook many food. Polly will take cooking.”

“Holly will take the cleaning,” the other elf volunteered.

Even with two house-elves, that was a lot of work.

Daisy, with her boundless energy, volunteered to deliver food with Margaret. Jasper and Gregory were directed by Daisy to watch over people in the hot springs and the rooms, respectively, so that they don’t get lost.

People unused to warped space tended to get lost.

Margaret still found that strange, because un-warped space was so _small_.

.

* * *

.

After the week, Daisy looked at her notes and seemed surprised. “We have Argentina on Saturdays and India on Sundays. This is. We have a door for every continent. Except Australia.”

Jasper just whined. “Don’t jinx it, maybe Margaret will wake up tomorrow make another door.”

Margaret laughed at him. “I don’t think so? After that first day, I started to understand what was going on.”

Which had been really weird. That urge to make doors was gone, but the urge to modify existing doorways to open somewhere else due to a strange clause was still there. She had to actively not think about modifying doors.

Was this what Master Harry meant by waking up?

“Still, warn a fella,” Jasper said dramatically. “I just moved in; don’t dump in all these surprises at me.”

And then they discovered why Master Harry made so much room.

Because all the doorways opened during the Full Moon. Only for werewolves, of course.

“Of course,” she gasped, fighting back tears. “Because I made this place.” She had made the place thinking about her parents, who had nowhere to rest.

 _Mom and Dad_ , she thought quietly, looking at all the werewolves she ushered into the functioning ecosystem behind the basement door. _I did it. I helped._

Her age mates, her friends. Her siblings, they all crowded around her as Margaret finally broke down crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, why didn't Master Harry help out Simon if he could help out Margaret?
> 
> Because Tom Riddle is a possessive bastard and would undoubtedly bristle in offense if there was even a hint that Simon wasn't being cared for properly. Adorable Teenage Overlord. Harry could only hint Isabelle Blackthorn to help out, because Izzy was Tom's people. 
> 
> Tom, feral bastard, who tended to adopt people and claim them.
> 
> Harry really understands his kids, it's so funny.
> 
> Harry also doesn't have favorite kids, but he has a soft spot for Gregory and Margaret. 
> 
> Margaret because of Remus Lupin, and Gregory because reasons. I will explain later.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments please!


End file.
